Bull's Eye
by TacoRaven
Summary: Clint "Hawkeye" Barton takes an afternoon at the shooting range in an attempt to shake the death of his lover, but hitting the bull's eye is far easier than shaking memories. Rated for a reason. Includes male/male slash. One-shot.


Bull's Eye

Rating: M

A/N: Greetings from Taco! So, this is male/male. And maybe a little angsty. The only promise I can make is that I don't own the characters themselves, or Marvel. (Normal text is present. Italics are memories. In case that needed explaining.) One-shot. Enjoy~

* * *

Clint Barton had never been one to show regret for very long. There were always other, more pressing things to deal with. Or he was instructed not to dwell.

"_Do not do this to yourself," she had said._

"Don't do this to yourself," he repeated to the empty night air in front of him. His tone was softer, more hushed than hers had been, but the meaning remained the same.

He couldn't afford to face the deaths on the hellicarrier then. There was – no, still is – something about facing deaths that happened by your hand and fault that effects how you preform in battle. Clint Barton knew this.

He told himself over and over he was glad she had not told him of Phil Coulson's death until after Loki had been captured. That Loki had done enough to him on a personal level, knowing exactly how much the demigod had stolen would have spurred him to act reckless in the name of vengeance, not more careful to exact revenge.

But now that the chaos had died down and the cleanup was winding down, he had enough time on his hands that he found himself disagreeing with the cliché 'time heal all wounds.'

"Whoever came up with that," he muttered, "Had been doing the comforting, not the grieving."

Their relationship had been as much of a secret as anything was around S.H.I.E.L.D.. He had suspicions that some people had figured something out, but no one ever said anything to him.

He had been living at the Avengers Tower for three weeks now, leaving here and there. Sometimes for cleanup, sometimes for a smaller mission, and sometimes just to get out. To move.

Movement, he found, kept his thoughts from turning too dark to turn back from.

He picked up his bow and arrows and went down to the shooting range.

"_You've got quite an impressive shot, Agent Barton," had been the first thing Phil had ever said to him. He'd just snorted at first, and then resumed shooting. Phil continued to watch him, almost impassively, as he hit the bull's eye dead center every time._

He set his arrows down. There were one dozen in his quiver. One dozen shots before he'd have to retrieve them.

"_You don't have to stare, you know?" he'd phrased the statement as a question, unable to keep the annoyance from lacing his voice._

"_My apologies, Agent Barton," Phil had responded. He turned around then, expecting to see the other man the barely readable wall that was presented on the work floor._

He nocked an arrow, eyes focusing on the target. He attempted to force the memories out.

_Phil had looked embarrassed. He allowed a moment's pause for that to register. He doubted Phil had noticed the pause. He had never seen a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent show such a readable emotion before, unless it was anger._

"_Can I help you with anything?" he asked Phil, deciding that, just maybe, Phil wanted something besides official business._

He loosed the arrow.

_It had been six days since he had asked Phil that innocent question. He couldn't remember the exact events that had lead him to where he was now._

_He couldn't decide if he wanted to remember or not. If the 'how' mattered._

_He had just kissed Phil Coulson._

Bull's eye.

_The next day, he allowed himself to face the rogue emotions that made their presence known._

_Another man. A taken man, at that. _

_It had simply been kissing. That wasn't cheating, right?_

He nocked another arrow.

_He'd sworn he wouldn't give in to his new-found attraction to Phil. No matter how much he wanted to. No matter how hard his emotions griped at him._

He loosed the arrow.

_He ran into Phil in the hallway. Phil smiled. It was a warm smile he felt at ease with._

"_Agent Barton," Phil chimed, "How pleasant to run into you._

"_Agent Coulson," he nodded, "this is pleasant."_

Bull's eye.

_Phil had invited him for a movie. They both needed a night away from work, Phil had explained._

_He had agreed. It was just a movie, after all._

He nocked another arrow.

"_Sure," he said, "I'll let you pick the movie."_

He loosed the arrow.

_It turned out the movie was showing at Phil's apartment. It was just the two of them._

_He took a deep breath, promising himself that he would keep control of his emotions. And his lips._

Bull's eye.

_Phil has chosen some comedy movie. He wasn't paying attention to the movie, if he was to be honest. He kept finding his attention drawn to the other man._

He nocked another arrow.

_The movie was good, he supposed. His focus was still questionable at best. _

_It was an odd sensation for him, but his closeness to Phil took away any discomfort he would have been feeling otherwise._

He loosed the arrow.

_After the movie was over, he turned towards Phil, who had been close to him through out the movie. He could feel Phil's breath on his forehead._

_'Even the best promises are made to be broken,' he thought to himself._

_This time, he kissed Phil first._

Bull's eye.

_It was more intense this time. He could feel Phil's warmth. The moment held all the comfort, excitement, and pleasure he'd imagined it would._

He nocked another arrow.

_He felt Phil's hand drift down to the small of his back as they kept kissing. He returned the gesture, feeling Phil's breath hitch._

_He knew they were just getting started. That was fine._

He loosed the arrow.

_He had never allowed himself to lose track of time until that night._

_By the time he had untangled himself from Phil, over an hour had passed. He nearly did a double-take when he was the clock._

_Phil walked him back to his car._

"_So, uh," Phil started, "We should do this again some time."_

Bull's eye.

_It had been three days since the movie. He had not seen Phil in the hall ways._

_That would not have normally bothered him. It was not uncommon to go weeks without seeing specific employees. Besides, if he were to seek out Phil, it wouldn't take much for people to start asking questions. Would it?_

He nocked another arrow.

_The next time he saw Phil, it was around a fairly crowded television screen._

_He shook his head slightly, laughing inwardly at his notion of how much better he had liked the last time he'd been in front of a television with Phil. It seemed so much longer than four days._

_On the screen, the reporter was going on about Anthony Stark's Iron Man._

He loosed the arrow.

_He had walked out of the room. Mentally, he was fuming. He didn't want to find the words for his sudden anger. He didn't want anyone to see him express anything._

_He didn't want to have to explain it. And he wouldn't have to, alone._

Bull's eye.

_Phil followed him out of the room. He was silent, the only communication came in the form of facial expressions until they were in the garage._

_Phil touched him on the shoulder lightly, eyes asking him to follow._

He nocked another arrow.

_He'd followed Phil. There was a certain amount of trust exchanged in such a simple gesture._

_It wasn't a long walk, physically, but in the silence it seemed miles._

He loosed the arrow.

_They got into Phil's car. Still wordless, Phil leaned over to him._

_He had known Phil was more forward a man than his on-the-clock personality showed. But he was still mildly surprised by the sudden amount of Phil on him._

_Phil was just a tad rougher this time. Not that he minded._

_It was almost feral, the passion. But only for a moment._

_Phil pulled away slightly, and then inquired, "What do you have against Iron Man?"_

Bull's eye.

_He had come to expect several things, however, Phil being able to read him so well had not been one of them._

_He had also not expected the torrent of words and emotions to be unleashed. They may not have been the strongest words or the most raw of emotions, but they were there. And they were his._

_He wrapped up his ranting with, "Anthony Start, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Thor – they all have something to show. What do I have to show for my involvement?"_

_He could have sworn he saw Phil smile for a moment._

"_Passion."_

He nocked another arrow.

_Phil's response stayed with him the rest of the day. Many other words had been exchanged, sure, but that one word held more than the rest put together._

_Passion._

_Phil stopped him in the hallway again after work. They were silent again, but this time it managed to make the walk to Phil's car seem shorter._

He loosed the arrow.

_He went home with Phil that night. He didn't bother asking himself why. He was finding himself making fewer fully thought out decisions around Phil._

_He was okay with this._

Bull's eye.

_They had beef casserole for dinner. Phil could cook well, and he helped with the clean up._

_His eyes were dancing with want when they met Phil's, whose were filled with desire._

"_Well," Phil spoke first, clearing his throat, "Shall we?"_

He nocked another arrow.

_It started slow. A touch, a kiss, a bite._

_The two men picked up the speed, gradually._

_A moan from him would spurn Phil to grip harder._

_A pleasurable cry from Phil would tell him to suck harder._

He loosed the arrow.

_It was not how he had imagined sex with Phil would be. Not that he could have found anything to complain about._

_Phil grinned and he panted for breath. He met Phil's grin, eyes still wild._

"_That..." he panted, "that was..."_

Bull's eye.

_It had only been two days since they'd slept together. He had been sore afterward, sure. But there was a different type of soreness he felt now._

_It was an unfamiliar feeling for him. He let it roll around his mind as if a new food, attempting to tell the flavors from each other._

_Was he actually missing Phil?_

He nocked another arrow.

_Phil had stopped him in the break room that afternoon. He was about to start heating his lunch – leftover sweet and sour turkey meatballs, if memory served that odd detail correctly – when he noticed the other man entering the room._

"_Phil!" he greeted, determined to speak first for once. An unnecessary aspiration, but one he had just met nonetheless. The excitement that had found its way into his voice both surprised him and understated his thoughts._

"_Agent Barton, I thought I would find you here," Phil grinned. The professionalism in his statement was a nice veil for the intentions he knew had been left unstated._

He loosed the arrow.

"_Is there something I can do for you?" he asked, keeping the grin off his face. Unlike Phil, he knew where the cameras were, and did not want to leave any room for questions. Not at this point, anyways._

"_Actually," Phil said, "I was hoping you would accompany me after work. I believe we still had business to go over."_

Bull's eye.

_They didn't even attempt to make any pretense of dinner that night. Phil had to struggle with himself and his lover to lock his door._

_Phil exposed his throat to him, the scent of lustful pleading nearly intoxicating him._

_He bit. Soft at first, but then harder. His bites started moving downward as he unbuttoned Phil's shirt. He could hear Phil borderlining on a whimper._

_He finished unbuttoning Phil's shirt, and then lifted his own over his head._

_He stepped back half a step. Just enough to get a good look at Phil. Phil looked back._

_Phil was beautiful. In that moment, he could relish that. Admire the man. He knew he was staring._

_Phil broke his stare by grabbing his ass and wrapping an arm around his waist. He gasped a little, reflexively. Phil grinned._

"_I want you," Phil all but growled._

_That was the second he was done with just getting started._

He nocked another arrow.

_For the second time in his life, he had lost track of time._

_He was naked. Phil was naked. Time wasn't real anymore._

_He felt his erection against Phil's, and let out a moan. It was primal. Phil hummed, content with how he was responding._

_He clawed at Phil's back, muttering pleas for more. More pleasure. More pressure. More touch. More kisses._

_Phil groaned, allowing a hand to drift to his balls, and then back to his entrance._

_His eyes widened and his breath hitched when he felt Phil's finger slide inside him._

_Phil paused, searching his eyes for anything._

He loosed the arrow.

"_Please, Phil," he breathed, "don't stop."_

_Phil didn't stop._

_He wasn't entirely sure what had happened in the blur of pleasure and pain. It wasn't even close enough to anything he had felt before to relate it to._

_Phil was inside of him. Thrusting. **Pounding.** _

_He felt his control slipping._

"_Phil, I'm going to-"_

Bull's eye.

_It had been seven hours since they'd slept together the second time._

_He was more sore than the first time, somehow. He attributed that to it having been longer, more intense, and far more involved. But he couldn't find it in him to complain._

_This time, Phil sought him out almost right away. Up in his "nest," as the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had termed it._

_He had chosen the spot because it was out of camera range. No one came up there but him._

_Until Phil, anyways._

"_Agent Barton," Phil nodded at him._

_He was caught between professional and personal. He knew they could bee seen, if anyone bothered to look up. But the scent of sweet-sex-sweat lingered, and he wanted Phil._

"_What brings you up here?" he asked, a grin betraying the accusations that tried to lace the question out of reflex._

He nocked the last arrow.

_Phil hadn't bothered with any more words. They were kissing again. _

_He knew this could get them in trouble. He knew this would ruin their reputations._

_He allowed himself to stop caring for a fleeting instant._

He loosed the arrow.

_And then the alarms started blaring._

_People started screaming. And then they started running. Something about the Tesseract acting up._

_It all happened within a matter of seconds. Phil shook his head._

"_You have to go, I know," he said to Phil._

_Phil nodded, a hint of sadness daring to reflect in his eyes._

_He gave Phil his best grin, "We'll do this again some time."_

For the first time in his memory, he didn't hit the bull's eye.

A/N: Well? Anything?


End file.
